Ripples
by cyberwulf
Summary: In prison, a sick and friendless Diego is about to commit suicide when he's visited by an angel. The angel shows him visions of a bleak future without him, in which death and misery blight the lives of many. But Diego finds himself pointing out contradictions in the angel's visions. Can one pebble really capsize so many boats? And are the angel's motives as pure as they seem?
1. Prologue

**Ripples**

**By Cyberwulf  
**

**Rated: **T (suitable for teens and over)

**Betas:** ProspectKiss, LadyLuckDoubt

**Fanmixer:** Stillarium

**Summary:** Four years after the events of T&T, a sick and friendless Diego is about to commit suicide when he's interrupted by an angel. The angel tells him that his suicide will have far-reaching effects, and shows him visions of a bleak future in which death and misery blight the lives of several people. But Diego finds himself pointing out contradictions in the angel's visions. Can one pebble really capsize so many boats? And are the angel's motives as pure as they seem?

Written for the Ace Attorney Big Bang (aceattorneybigbang at dreamwidth dot org).

**Warnings:** Character death; suicide; suicidal ideation; implied sexual assault; flippant attitudes to death, suicide, and sexual assault; gore; implied reproductive coercion.

**Spoilers:** The Phoenix Wright trilogy, Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney, and Ace Attorney: Dual Destinies.

_xxx_

**Prologue**

The midsummer moon was just bright enough to read by. Diego shifted on his bunk, moving the letter in and out of the shadows cast by the barred window as he slowly considered each line. It had been folded and unfolded several times over the last four months, forcing him to tilt it when the writing disappeared into the shadow of a crease.

It was from Pearl, dated the anniversary of his crime. It was just one sheet of paper, cursing him and his stupid plan and how he'd put Mystic Maya in danger. Diego had read it over and over.

It was the last piece of correspondence he'd had from anyone.

Diego reached the last line – Pearl signing off by inviting him to go to hell – and closed his eyes briefly. She was about thirteen now, he guessed. Trite and Maya couldn't hide the truth from her forever. It had been only a matter of time before she found out exactly how he'd engineered that terrible night on the mountain; how close he'd let her come to killing Maya, just so he could play the hero. He couldn't blame her for hating him, and yet it still hurt.

A lot of things hurt, in body and soul.

He sat up and got down from his bunk, taking care not to wake his cellmate sleeping below him. Blackquill's ghostly face was lit up in the moonlight, his cheeks stained with fresh tears. Diego shook his head slightly. He could still remember the day he finally got Blackquill to tell him why he was really in prison, and learned that his cellmate was an honest-to-God saint. Diego had taken a woman's life, put another in mortal danger, and had risked turning a little girl into a killer, all for his own selfish desire. Blackquill had given up his life to spare a little girl from the horror of what she'd done. A man had to smile at the irony.

Diego turned away and drew a match from his pocket. He struck it against the wall and touched the corner of the letter to the fire. Yellow flames licked along the dry paper, sending its angry contents to the void. He shook his head at the burning page. If he'd done this three and a half years ago to another letter, all this misery might have been avoided. When the flames reached the last corner, Diego let go, dropping it into the toilet. It was ash before it hit the water.

Diego sat on the floor and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. It was a muggy summer night, one of several they'd had so far. He drew a cigarette and another match from his pocket. His hand shook as he lit up. Diego eyed his trembling fingers apprehensively. That had been happening on and off over the last six months, and the prison doc wasn't exactly happy about it. Diego flexed his hand a few times, then let his arm drop by his side. He took a calming drag from the cigarette and blew the smoke at the ceiling.

They'd told him, way back, that the poison had damaged his nervous system. That eventually there would be tremors, loss of sensation, problems walking, loss of motor control. That all medical science could do was slow the process down. Diego smirked bitterly. His death would be slow, painful, undignified, and there would be no-one to mourn his passing. Maya had stopped visiting years ago. She'd tried so hard to forgive him, and maybe she had, but it was killing her to look at him and pretend that they were friends. Trite had never visited him – Diego would have told him to get lost if he had. Pearl hated him. He didn't blame them – any of them. If he'd acted like a man, if he'd put others first instead of himself, maybe he wouldn't be sitting here, facing a slow deterioration all alone.

But at least now no-one would be upset by what he was about to do.

Diego closed his eyes briefly and opened them again, looking up at the frame of the bunk. He hated doing this where Blackquill would find him – kid had seen enough horror – but it was time. He had no interest in holding out for a miracle. Already the pills worked and didn't work, made some things better and made other things worse. He was broken in ways that couldn't be fixed, and he wanted to be done.

And maybe there was someone on the other side who would be happy to see him.

Diego finished his cigarette and climbed back up into his bunk. He took off his trousers and carefully tied a noose in one leg. Once he was satisfied, he tied the other pantleg securely to the bedframe. It wouldn't be as quick as a proper "long drop" hanging, but Diego didn't care. A few minutes of painful strangulation were a small price to pay when set against years of living in a ruined body that stubbornly refused to die. He picked up the noose and made to place it around his neck.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

He almost leaped out of his skin at the male voice in the room – too deep to be Blackquill. Diego whipped his head around and immediately had to shield his face against the bright light filling the far corner. It dissipated, revealing a bespectacled man in a trenchcoat.

Diego frowned at the stranger, and glanced quickly at the bars of his cell. Still locked tight. He directed a wary look at the stranger, who was gazing back at him.

"That's a hell of a magic trick, amigo," he murmured. He wondered if he was hallucinating. Maybe the docs had changed his meds up and hadn't told him.

"Don't be alarmed," the stranger declared quietly. He took a couple of slow, careful steps towards the bunk. "There's a logical explanation for this. You see, I'm an angel."

Diego was now sure he was hallucinating.

"Ha…! I don't remember jumping," he remarked.

"No, you haven't." The stranger stepped into the moonlight. Diego frowned. The man looked familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "I got here just in time." Diego eyed him suspiciously as he approached the bunks. "I know what you want to do, and I'm here to change your mind."

Diego barked out a bitter laugh.

"Save it for Christmas, Gabriel," he sneered. "My mind's made up." He sobered, and looked away. "There's nothing left for me here."

"You're wrong," the angel insisted. "There are still people who need you. If you die now, all their lives change, and not for the better."

Diego smirked and shook his head. He'd heard about jumpers who changed their minds halfway down; people who poisoned themselves only to cry for the antidote when it was too late; people who walked into the sea and still struggled, despite their wish to die, against the water filling their lungs. But he was pretty sure this was the first case of somebody's own ego trying to keep him alive.

"Sorry, Gabriel," he repeated. "No dice. No-one needs me." He turned to reach for the noose, dropped in his earlier shock.

His hand passed straight through it.

Diego tried again, with the same result. He turned and stared at the angel sharply. The angel gazed back, the hint of a smug smile on his face…and yet again, he looked strangely familiar.

Diego looked at the noose, then back at the angel, and shrugged.

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

"I'm afraid not," the angel replied. He extended a hand. Diego considered it for a few moments, then smirked and slid down from the bunks, unassisted.

"So what now, Gabriel?" he asked. "You take me flying through the night in my underpants?"

The angel nodded to the lower bunk, adjusting his glasses as he did so. "Actually, I thought we'd start with him."


	2. Act One

**Act One**

Blackquill's pet hawk stirred in its sleep, as if sensing their presence. Diego glanced from his cellmate to the angel and back again.

"The Highlander?"

"You know he's innocent," the angel murmured. "You've been trying to help him. Keep him safe."

Diego winced a little at that. When he'd first found out that Blackquill really was the noble hero Diego had wanted to be, the bitter dregs of his soul burned bright green with jealousy. His first instinct was to turn away from the latest cosmic joke at his expense. But Blackquill had been so young, so scared; easy prey for hardened criminals. And to Diego's consternation, he'd found that he _cared_ whether Simon Peter sleeping in the bunk below him got hurt.

So Diego had taught him how to behave like he really had mercilessly butchered a woman in front of her child, how to hold his head up and brag about it, and how to hide his vulnerability behind a no-fucks-to-give smile. He did feel a little guilty, leaving the kid so soon. But Diego had taught him all he could. Whether Diego was there or not, Blackquill had to sink or swim on his own.

"It's not like he's all alone," Diego murmured, looking away. That too was a sore point; Blackquill had a sister, and friends in the Prosecutors' Office, judging by the way his execution date kept being pushed back. "Even if he was, there's nothing more I can do for him."

The angel nodded to the pantleg, still tied to the bunk. "Have you considered what you're going to do to him?"

Diego smirked.

"Wouldn't be the first dead body he's ever seen."

"That's not what I meant," the angel replied gently.

The cell, the bunks, Blackquill, and his pet hawk dissolved away, revealing the mess hall, crowded with prisoners. Diego's eye was drawn to Blackquill, sitting utterly alone at a nearby table.

"This is just a few weeks after your suicide," the angel explained. He moved towards one of the crowded tables. Diego remained where he was for a few minutes, gazing at Blackquill. There were no friends in prison, but the other prisoners had never visibly isolated the kid like this. In fact, it was a rare thing to happen, especially to a prisoner who wasn't a mob boss or someone else of major standing in the criminal underworld. He began to feel uneasy.

"Hey, Gabriel." He moved to catch up with the angel. "What's going on?"

The angel put a finger to his lips, gazing at the table full of prisoners next to him. "Listen."

Diego realised the other prisoners were sneaking dirty looks at Blackquill as they ate.

"Yeah, I heard he did something to Armando," one of them muttered. "Messed with his head. Talked him into killing himself."

"Dude was learning hypnosis and shit like that before he got here," said another.

"I thought he and Armando were boys," a third prisoner interrupted. "Don't make no sense that he made Armando kill himself."

"Don't make no sense that Armando killed himself either," the first prisoner retorted. "Besides, the guy sliced up a woman right in front of her little girl. Psycho like that could do anything."

"I heard whispering that night," a fourth prisoner joined in. "I swear on my kidses lives. Whispering, and Armando crying."

Diego shot the prisoner an offended look as the rest of the prisoners murmured in awe.

"Well that settles it," the second prisoner remarked. He cracked his knuckles and shot Blackquill a look that chilled Diego to the bone. "Dude won't get the chance to do it to anybody else."

It hit Diego suddenly - Blackquill was alone because he was marked for death. Diego turned around sharply to look at Blackquill, still calmly eating his lunch. _And he's got no idea._

The room began to dissolve.

"Wait –"

He heard the splatter of running water before the tiles of the shower swam into view. As the steam cleared he saw Blackquill face-up on the wet floor. Blood ran from his head into the nearby drain. Outside a guard yelled for a medic into his walkie-talkie, but Diego knew it was already too late. Diego ran a hand over his mouth and goatee, and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Unpleasant, isn't it."

Diego nearly lost his footing on the wet floor.

"Ha…!" Struggling to regain his composure, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "How about that. I can see red again." He looked at the angel. "That your doing?"

"This is the world after your suicide," the angel replied. "So technically, it's your doing."

Diego flinched at the angel's words. He looked back at the body as the doctors tried in vain to resuscitate him. It hadn't occurred to him that the other prisoners might decide that he'd killed himself because of Blackquill playing headgames. And yet, the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed.

"Okay, amigo," he replied. "I see what you're saying." He deliberately turned his back on the scene. Gabriel didn't need to know that he actually cared about the kid. "So maybe I don't slip away in the dead of night." He plastered on a smirk. "Maybe I wrestle a tiger instead."

The angel gave him a long, sombre look. The showers, doctors and the body dissolved to the mess hall. Diego stepped back in shock – his own corpse was on the floor, rapidly bleeding out. Tigre stood over him. One huge orange fist was buried in Blackquill's stomach. The younger man was bent around Tigre's fist, thick wet gurgles accompanying the blood streaming out of his mouth. As Diego watched, Tigre pulled his fist back, his knuckles – and the shiv between them – wet with blood. Blackquill collapsed on Diego's body, gasping his last.

Diego stared at the gory tableau, clenching his fists. The stupid kid had tried to save him. Damn it, how many times did he have to tell Blackquill that there was no reward for saintly behaviour?

"There's more," the angel murmured. Diego barely heard him. The guards were swarming on Tigre, and without warning, a medic appeared in front of him. It took Diego a few seconds to realise the man had just run straight through him.

"Diego." The angel tugged at his arm. Diego managed to tear his gaze away from the awful scene to look at him. "How much has Simon told you about his crime?"

Diego swallowed, still unnerved by the proof that he really was a ghost.

"Everything."

The angel nodded as the medics worked on the two lifeless bodies. "Then you know he has a sister. And his victim had a daughter."

Diego nodded. He tried in vain to muster a smirk. "Too bad for them, huh?"

The angel looked away, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Worse than you know."

The world around them faded to black. In the darkness, Diego heard a young girl cry out.

"No! No, Aura, please –"

A new location gradually came into focus around them. A teenage girl with long, red hair lay strapped to a table in the middle of the room. Half-finished machinery lurked in the corners of what looked to be some kind of lab. A dark-haired woman in a white coat loomed over the girl.

"What is this?" Diego hissed.

"Blackquill's sister," the angel murmured. "And the girl he went to prison to protect."

The girl struggled as the woman stepped over to a control panel.

"Save it, princess," the woman snarled. "My baby brother's dead because of you."

"Aura, please, I'm sorry – I'm so sorry about Simon –" The air was filled with clicks and whirring as a collection of nasty-looking instruments descended from the ceiling towards the struggling girl. "I – I wanted to save him – "

She screamed as the first instrument penetrated her flesh. Diego tried to move to stop it, but the angel placed a hand on his arm.

"You had your chance to do something," the angel remarked coldly as the woman moved, blocking the girl and the ensuing carnage from view. "It's too late now."

Diego turned away, struggling to ignore the girl's dying screams. "Don't lay this on _me_, Gabriel," he growled. "Blackquill told me the kid did it. She didn't know what she was doing, that's why he took the fall for her. But that's what happened."

The angel glared at him as the wet sounds of metal cutting through flesh and the girl's last moans faded away.

"Or maybe it isn't," he said tightly. "Maybe the real killer is still out there. Maybe he kills again."

Diego took a small step back, unsettled by the angel's reaction. Something about the scene had hit a nerve, and the nagging feeling that he should know the angel's identity resurfaced. But before he could think about it further, the laboratory around them gave way to a brightly-lit, extremely cluttered office. Paperwork, discarded clothes and magician's props were strewn across every available surface.

"Where are we?" Diego murmured. He smirked. "Or should that be, _when_ are we?"

"The Wright Anything Agency, four years from now," the angel replied.

Diego looked around at the mess.

"So I die, and Trite starts hoarding?" he asked.

Before the angel could reply, a young man in a red suit and a blue jacket strode into the room. Diego took a moment to get over the surprise of seeing the colour red again. He didn't recognise the kid, who was clutching some files in his heavily bandaged arms. The man following him, dressed in a well-tailored blue suit, was unmistakeable.

"Apollo, wait –" Diego instinctively stepped out of the way as Apollo crossed to the heavily cluttered desk and dumped the files on top of the computer keyboard. Phoenix Wright followed him, running a hand through his spiky hair. " – just listen to me for a second –"

Apollo paused, leaning on the desk.

"Sorry, Mr. Wright." He turned, a bitter, half-smile on his face. "I can't let this go. I can't let Clay's murder go unsolved. And I don't trust the police to find the real killer."

He started to walk to the door, and Wright caught his arm.

"Just…" Diego's blood ran cold at the stricken look on Wright's face. "…don't go digging around on your own, okay?"

Apollo smirked. "Sure thing, Boss. _You'd_ never do that, right?"

"This isn't a game!" Wright snapped. Apollo hissed in pain and yanked his arm out of Wright's grip. "If you don't keep someone in the loop, bad things can happen!" He took a deep breath and let it out slow. "Believe me, I know."

Diego suddenly had a horrible feeling about where this was going. He turned away from the scene, missing Apollo's parting shot as the younger attorney left the office, and glared at the angel.

"Don't."

" 'Don't' what?" the angel replied coldly. "This is out of my hands now."

The room darkened, illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the window. Apollo entered the office. The light switch clicked impotently a few times and he swore quietly.

"Where's the ladder…"

He passed in front of the window.

There was a crack, and he staggered backwards, collapsing on his rear. In the moonlight, Diego could see Apollo's hands clutching at his throat, trying in vain to stop the bleeding. A shadowy figure moved out of the darkness, quickly sweeping up the documents Apollo had dropped, before disappearing out of the office. The young attorney gurgled on the floor, fumbling clumsily in one pocket. Looking for his cellphone, Diego realised suddenly. But it was too late. Apollo stilled, and the office was silent again.

Diego ran a hand through his hair and tried to compose himself.

"So…whoever shot the kid," he said shakily, "is the same person who murdered Blackquill's mentor?"

The angel nodded. "Precisely. If Blackquill dies before uncovering the truth about his mentor's murder, it isn't just her daughter who will pay the price. That young man there will die too." The angel laid a hand on Diego's shoulder. "Don't you see? You can't die yet."

Diego swallowed. He didn't want to be responsible for any more suffering. But did he really have to push on in a body that was falling apart, never seeing a friendly face, for four more years?

…Four more years.

_If Blackquill dies…_

"Wait." He looked at the angel. "All this happens…if Blackquill dies."

The angel looked slightly exasperated, and pushed his glasses up his nose. "That's what I said, yes."

"If Blackquill dies," Diego repeated, a smirk creeping over his face. "Not me. Didn't they tell you upstairs? Blackquill's got a death sentence." He pointed at the angel, the gesture feeling empty without the familiar weight of a coffee mug in his hand. "So what difference does it make if he dies now, or four years from now?"

"It makes a difference," the angel answered defensively.

"Then show me some proof," Diego retorted. "Or I'm not buying it."

"Look - I can't tell you everything," the angel huffed, a flustered look on his face. "You just have to trust me."

"Ha…!" Diego shook his head. "I still haven't decided whether or not you're a figment of my imagination, Gabriel." He gestured to the darkened office. "And it's going to take more than all this to convince me to stick around."

"Fine," the angel said in annoyance. "Because I've got plenty to show you."


	3. Act Two

**Act Two**

Before Diego could reply, the darkness around them intensified, swallowing the faint outlines of the office. It slowly faded, revealing a prison cell. Diego glanced around, noticing familiar scratch-marks on the walls, and – he felt a slight pang – an empty perch. He tried to tell himself that they'd rehomed Blackquill's beloved hawk. The hopeful thought was quashed when he remembered that Yogi's parrot hadn't lasted long after the old man passed away.

"Well, I know _where_ we are," he murmured, shooting the angel a smirk. "Care to tell me when?"

"Eight years after your suicide," the angel replied. He reached out and gently tugged Diego backwards as the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. The bars were unlocked and a blond young man, carrying a change of prison clothes and underwear, was pushed into the cell.

"Welcome to your new home, Tobaye," one of the guards remarked. "Got the place all to yourself. Enjoy it while it lasts."

The young man stared after the guards as they walked away. After a few minutes he dropped his clothes on the bottom bunk and sat down heavily, wrapping his arms around himself. Diego shook his head as he gazed at him. The man was tall and had some muscle, but he was baby-faced, and his shaggy blond hair and big blue eyes only emphasised his youth.

"He's just a boy." Diego glanced at the angel. "What's he in for?"

"Smuggling," the angel replied dispassionately. He glanced briefly at Diego. "The man he was working for tried to frame him for murder."

Diego cringed. He'd tried to take full responsibility for Misty Fey's murder, insisting to the detectives, Miles Edgeworth and the judge that he'd bullied Iris into covering for him. He owed her that much. But they'd still thrown the book at her. He didn't want to think about what might be happening to her behind bars, especially with the added complications of sharing a face with her demonic sister and a prison with the mother who abandoned her.

"You sure know how to pick 'em, Gabriel," he murmured. He looked back at the man – boy – sitting on the bed.

"What do you suppose will happen to someone that young in here?" the angel asked.

Diego frowned as the cell dissolved to the familiar white tiles of the showers. Tobaye was backed into a corner, frightened baby blue eyes darting back and forth. Furio Tigre stood in front of him. Two or three other prisoners stood behind the Tiger, blocking any escape even if Tobaye managed to get past him.

"You get away from me," Tobaye bit out, but his voice was unsteady, and Diego knew he wasn't going to fight.

"Aww, relax, Wingdings!" Tigre drawled, his tongue lolling obscenely between his teeth. He grabbed Tobaye by the shoulder and spun him around, crushing him against the shower wall. "It won't hoit so much."

Diego turned away, unable to watch.

"You – you didn't need to show me that," he growled, trying to mask the tremble in his voice. "I know what goes on around here." He tried to ignore Tigre's soft grunts and Tobaye's muffled, clenched-teeth whimpers, and shook his head at the angel. "This isn't fair, Gabriel. You can't ask me to hang on just for this kid."

"He needs someone to look out for him," the angel replied sombrely.

"And that someone has to be me?" Diego asked bitterly. "I don't even know what shape I'll be in eight years from now."

The angel winced, but regained his composure. "It's not just what happens to him," he explained. "It's what he's going to do."

Diego eyed the angel warily. "Which is…?"

The showers dissolved away to reveal the blue summer sky and the brown clay of the exercise yard. Tobaye stood toe to toe with an older, more hardened convict while half a dozen nosy prisoners watched. Diego lifted an eyebrow at the other man's outrageously-sized pompadour.

"It your fault I here!" Tobaye shouted. "You – bad fucking cop – say little boy do murder!"

"Back the fuck off, kid," the older man snarled.

"You back –" Tobaye shoved the older man and the two began to scuffle. It wasn't long before the older man got the upper hand and managed to pull off a judo throw, sending Tobaye rolling head over heels through the clay. Something flew out of Tobaye's clothes, catching the light as it sailed through the air and landed a couple of yards away. Diego stepped back instinctively as Tobaye came to rest a few inches from his bare feet.

The older man marched over to where Tobaye was trying to get to his hands and knees. He knelt behind him and fisted his hand in the boy's blond hair.

Tobaye froze. "D-don't!"

" 'Don't' what?" the older man snarled. "Huh?"

Tears were starting down Tobaye's cheeks. The older man shuffled closer to Tobaye, pushing his groin against the boy's rear. Diego wanted to turn away, but the angel was right behind him.

"Aww, what's the matter?" the older man taunted. "Your farts have an echo now? Cry me a fucking river." He hooked his free hand into Tobaye's waistband, sliding it down just a fraction of an inch. It was enough to make the younger man start trembling. "Nobody held a gun to your head, you greedy little shit. Be a man and take your fucking medicine."

He shoved Tobaye's face into the dirt, then stood up and began to walk away. Diego heaved a sigh of relief – for a few seconds he had been certain the older man was going to rape Tobaye right in front of him. Tobaye pushed himself up on his hands, a big dry sob shuddering through his body. He turned his head, eyes fixing on something beyond Diego.

Too late, Diego remembered the shiny object that had flown out of Tobaye's prison stripes.

Tobaye scrambled for the shiv and stumbled after the older man. Diego tried to grab him, but his hands passed through him.

"Kid, don't!"

But there was no way to stop Tobaye from reaching out and grabbing the older man's shoulder, no way to stop him bringing the shiv down on the older man's neck and shoulder over and over and over again. By the time the guards tackled Tobaye away from his victim, it was too late. The older man lay twitching and gurgling in a muddy mixture of clay and his own blood.

"Don't you see?" the angel said. He touched Diego gently on the arm. "You of all people know how quickly revenge turns sour."

Diego jerked out of the angel's grip and turned away from the scene. He _did_ know, all too well, the cold shock of ending someone's life and the hollow feeling that crept in when you realised that murder didn't make your pain go away. But damn it, it wasn't as if he _wanted_ this to happen. Why did he have to stay alive to stop it?

"Maybe a man who tries to pin his crimes on someone else doesn't deserve to live," he murmured bitterly.

The angel shook his head and folded his arms.

"Do you really think this ends with them?" he asked.

The yard dissolved away before Diego could answer, leaving the visiting area in its place. Diego tried to ignore the sudden pang as he looked at his surroundings. He hadn't seen the place in years. Not since the last day Maya had come to visit him.

"There." The angel gestured to the seat nearest to them. A tall woman in her forties with long chestnut hair was sitting on one side of the glass. Tobaye was brought into the room and led to the seat opposite her. Diego blew out a breath and glanced away briefly. Of course – the kid had a mother. A mother whose baby boy had murdered a man. He wondered briefly if his own mother knew that her baby boy was a murderer too.

Diego decided that he was starting to hate the angel.

The woman took a deep breath as she lifted the receiver on her side. Tobaye shifted in his seat and didn't look at her as he did the same.

The conversation was in a language Diego couldn't understand, but he didn't need to. The stilted words and uncomfortable body language said it all. The woman tried several times to smile, but it never reached her eyes. She looked anywhere but at her son. Maya was the same. Every visit, she struggled more and more to keep up a brave face. Every visit, she had less to say to him. From the moment she'd sat down on that last day, Diego had known that she was never coming back.

"You sure know how to twist the knife, Gabriel," he murmured.

The guards came to take Tobaye back to the cell. The woman sat for a few moments in silence, then rose and made her way out of the room.

"Come on," the angel murmured. He started after her, and Diego followed.

"What, no special effects this time?" Diego quipped half-heartedly. The angel ignored him, continuing past oblivious prison staff to the visitors' parking lot. The woman was sitting in her car. As they got closer, Diego saw tears trickling down her face. She had two photographs in her lap. One was of a young, blond boy, and Diego guessed it was Tobaye before he got in trouble. The other made him take a step back. It was of Apollo, Wright's young protégé…who was dead in this timeline. Diego felt his stomach twist. Both her sons were lost.

"There's more," the angel said coldly. Diego turned to face him as the parking lot began to dissolve around them.

"Let a man catch his breath, amigo," Diego pleaded.

"No time for that," the angel replied. Diego looked around. They were standing in a lavish, upscale apartment. Guitars and gold records decorated the purple walls, along with…

Diego stepped closer to a large framed photograph of a rock band, hanging on the wall. Right near the middle of the group was the man Tobaye had killed, toting a guitar. A man with long blond hair had his arm slung around his shoulders.

The rattle of the front door made Diego turn back around. Whoever was outside was struggling with the lock. At last it opened, and the blond man from the photograph stumbled inside. He leaned heavily on the door for a few seconds, then clumsily pushed it shut. He weaved past Diego and the angel, tossing a newspaper onto the end table on the way. A photograph of the dead man took up most of the front page. The headline read "CRESCEND.O.A – ACCOMPLICE BITES BACK". Diego looked up in time to see the angel following the blond man further into the apartment.

Diego heaved a sigh. There was nothing good down that hallway. But he didn't have a choice.

The blond stumbled into a bedroom, steadying himself by holding onto the dresser. There was another, smaller photograph of the blond and the dead man – Crescend – on top of it. The blond picked it up and traced Crescend's face with a finger. He put it down carefully, then tugged open the top drawer. He drew out a police service revolver and stared at it for a few seconds.

Diego suddenly felt sick. He tried to turn away, and the angel grabbed his arm hard enough to hurt.

"I get it, Gabriel," Diego hissed. "I can fill in the blanks."

"No," the angel said sternly. "This time you watch."

The blond contemplated the gun for a few more drunken seconds. Then he put the barrel in his mouth.

Diego wrenched free of the angel's grip, turning on his heel just before the shot, the wet _splatch_ of blood and brains, and the dull thud of the body hitting the floor. He stormed towards the door of the apartment, and swore when his hand passed through the knob. Well, he _was_ a ghost here. Diego took a deep breath and walked straight through the door.

His face twitched into a grimace when he found himself outside. Diego started down the darkened street, ignoring the angel's footsteps on the sidewalk behind him. The blond's suicide had rattled him. Mr. Rockstar had cared a great deal for Crescend, even though he was a murderer. Crescend's crime hadn't pushed the blond over the edge – his death had. Diego couldn't help wondering what Mia thought of him now.

"Diego!"

Diego halted, swallowed his urge to punch the angel, and slowly turned to face him.

"We aren't finished," the angel said angrily.

"No, we _are_ finished," Diego snapped. "I'm done with this, Gabriel. Take me home."

The angel shook his head. "Not until you understand the difference your life makes –"

"_My_ life," Diego interrupted. He barked out a brief, bitter laugh. "You keep saying that, Gabriel." He shook his head. "Look, I feel sorry for Tobaye. I feel sorry for his mother. I feel sorry for Mr. Rockstar in the apartment back there – I know how it feels to want to turn it all off. But where's the kid's responsibility in this? Why don't you go talk to _him?_ Tell him not to pull the stupid stunt that lands him in the slammer?"

The angel looked flustered. "It – it doesn't work like that."

"Ha…!" Diego's fingers twitched. A cup of coffee would hit the spot right about now. "You're not really helping your case here, Gabriel."

The angel adjusted his glasses. "My case?"

"I don't believe_ you_, Gabriel," Diego explained. He gestured to the street around them. "I don't believe _this_." He stepped closer, and the angel leaned away as Diego invaded his personal space. "I think you're my own ego." He smirked. "Who else would tell me I'm so damn important that total strangers are going to die if I'm not here to save them?"

"So that's your objection?" the angel countered. "Why should you care about strangers?"

When Gabriel put it like that, it stung. Diego backed up a little. "I didn't say that."

"No no, Mr. Prosecutor, don't backpedal," the angel replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's a valid point." The dark streets began to dissolve around them. "Very well. I'll show you someone you _do_ care about."


	4. Act Three

**Act Three**

Diego broke into a cold sweat as the world shimmered back into focus. He began to feel sick as he looked around at the Japanese-style decor. There was only one possible place they could be.

"Pearly? Pearly!"

Diego turned as Maya came down the hallway. She was very pregnant, and clutched a crumpled note in one hand.

And she looked frantic.

"When are we, Gabriel?" Diego asked hoarsely. His mouth was so dry. What he'd give for a cup of coffee right now…

"Nine years after your death," the angel murmured. Diego watched as Maya waddled past them and turned the corner at the end of the hallway. This time, he didn't need the angel's prompting to follow her.

"…She's run away, Nick."

Maya was standing near the front door of Fey Manor, her cell phone to her ear and her other hand, still clutching the note, on her belly. "She left a note–" Maya lifted her hand and re-read the scrap of paper. "–she says she's afraid she'll hurt the baby. That – that if it's a girl…"

Diego's heart twisted as Maya pressed the back of her hand to her face, scrubbing at her eyes.

"I thuh-thought we were past all this," she sniffled. "I thought she understood that she's nothing like her mother." She took a deep breath, struggling for control. "Please, please try to find her, Nick. …I'll try to get to you, but it won't be easy." She listened for a moment. "I will. Okay. Bye."

Diego followed Maya as she went back down the hallway and into a side room. She settled herself awkwardly on the Japanese-style futon, cradling her bump. Tears started sliding down her cheeks. Diego began to get angry. It was night out – where was Maya's husband? Why was she alone?

"Where the hell's the kid's father, Gabriel?" he growled.

The angel gazed at him for a few moments, an expression of mild contempt on his face. "I think you know where the father is."

Diego frowned. Did Gabriel mean Trite was the father, and therefore in the city? Or…wait. He remembered now – pillow talk that had turned awkward, the bitter note in Mia's voice as she explained that her father had deserted her and her mother, "just like most of the men back home." Now Maya's child would grow up without a father, too.

The room around them wobbled slightly. When the world refocused, Maya was on the futon, propped up by several pillows. She grunted and yowled, sweating and red in the face, and Diego took a step back. It felt _wrong_ watching her like this, even though she couldn't see him. She wouldn't have wanted him here. He looked around the room, skipping over the midwife and what she was doing between Maya's legs. No father, just like Gabriel said… and no sign of Trite, either. Diego grit his teeth, anger and disappointment coursing through him. Trite was supposed to be a better man than Diego. And yet he'd left Maya to go through childbirth all alone.

At last the piercing cry of a baby rang out and Maya flopped back on the pillows, huffing and gasping. At the end of the bed the midwife was handling the newborn, running a careful attentive gaze over the tiny form. She frowned, and then a look of sadness appeared on her face.

"What?" Diego bounced on his toes, trying to get a look at the baby. "What's wrong with it, Gabriel?"

The midwife wrapped the baby in a blanket and laid the little bundle on Maya's chest.

"I'm sorry, Master Maya," she said gravely. Maya looked up at her with a stricken expression. The midwife closed her eyes briefly, and took a deep breath. "It's a boy."

Maya stared back at her for a moment, tears starting down her cheeks. She gathered her son in her arms, smiling at him through her tears, her chest hitching with silent sobs.

Diego glanced at the angel and back at Maya. This was all wrong. Having a son solved Maya's problems. Boys had no spiritual power. Pearl didn't have to worry about succumbing to her mother's murderous jealousy. If Pearl had a daughter of her own down the line, there'd be no more family feuding over the Master's title. So why was she so upset, unless…

"Let me guess," he managed. "The old biddies that run the place won't let her pass the title on to Pearl. She has to have a daughter of her own, right?"

The angel shifted his weight and didn't look at him.

Diego swallowed, a cold, sick feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

"It's a rules thing, right? Family tradition…" He wet his lips, the awful idea sticking in his throat. "…It's not that… they found Pearl, didn't they, Gabriel?" He grabbed the angel's arm. "Tell me they found her."

The angel glared at him and tugged his arm out of Diego's grasp. The wood-panelled walls around them dissolved away, revealing dimly-lit city streets. Diego looked around, searching desperately for any sign of Pearl.

He almost missed her – he had been looking for a young girl in Kurain robes. She was walking along the pavement across the street from him, glancing around furtively. She wore a long, army-green coat, and had a tatty Steel Samurai backpack slung over one shoulder. The childish backpack made Diego's heart hurt. Pearl had to be twenty, maybe twenty-one, but she was still just a kid.

Diego followed Pearl at a distance as she continued down the street, vaguely aware of the angel walking beside him. He tried to work out how long she'd been living on the streets, and quickly decided that it didn't matter. She shouldn't still be out here.

"Why the hell hasn't Trite found her yet?" Diego growled.

"You can't find someone who doesn't want to be found," the angel replied.

Diego shook his head as Pearl approached a large, darkened building. "Trite'll search every inch of the city till he finds her."

The angel gave Diego a long look.

"Who says she's in Los Angeles?"

A chill ran down Diego's spine. He looked back at Pearl as she rapped on a door in the side of the building. It opened, and she had a murmured conversation with whoever was inside. After a few minutes, she gave a last, nervous look around, and disappeared through the door.

Diego glanced at the angel, then ran to the building. Maybe he couldn't affect anything here, but at least he could see what was on the other side of that door. He hesitated for a moment, then walked through the solid steel.

He found himself back in Trite's office, which was still as cluttered as ever. The place was in darkness, and deserted except for the dark-haired toddler snoozing on the couch in front of him. Diego glanced around in confusion, then whirled around and glared at the angel.

"Hey -"

"You want to know what happened to Pearl, don't you?" the angel murmured sternly. He nodded to the doorway at the end of the room. Diego turned, and noticed the door was ajar. As he got closer, he heard muted voices coming from the other room. Diego forced down his anxiety, and peered through the doorway.

Maya and Trite were sitting together at a battered table in a tiny kitchen. She was pregnant again, and there were tears in her eyes.

"I…I channelled her, Nick," Maya gulped. "I channelled Pearl."

Diego felt like a rock had dropped into his stomach. Trite turned pale and drew Maya into his arms.

"She – she doesn't know where she is, or what happened to her…" Maya buried her face in Trite's shirt. "Oh, Nick…"

Trite tightened his hold on her, rocking her back and forth. "I'm so sorry, Maya," he mumbled into her hair. "God, I'm so sorry I couldn't find her."

"Nick, I can't take it anymore." Maya was sobbing now, clinging to him. "Pearly's… Pearly's _dead_ and they don't even care. They're just going to keep... _breeding_ me till I have a daughter."

"Maya…"

"Let's just go, Nick," Maya pleaded tearfully. "Tonight. Let's just take Jet and go somewhere nobody knows us."

Diego backed away from the door, shaking his head.

"No," he mumbled. "No way." He stared at the angel, desperately wracking his brains for some evidence that it couldn't be true. His gaze fell on Maya's son, slumbering peacefully on the couch. What kind of life was waiting for _him_?

"This is what happens," the angel said gently. He laid a hand on Diego's shoulder. The world around them shifted, and suddenly they were on a dark street. "This is what happens to them if you die now."

Diego jerked away from the angel, anger surging through him.

"What the hell am I supposed to do, Gabriel?" he shouted in disbelief. He'd already done enough damage to the Fey clan. Now his suicide had ruined Maya's life and ended Pearl's. "They don't talk to me anymore! Pearl hates my guts, and Maya…" He paused, trying to steady himself. His whole body was shaking, and he hated it. "…Maya can't even look at me." He turned away from the angel and ran a hand through his hair. "Why would you show me this when I can't…"

Diego broke off as the crucial piece of evidence suddenly presented itself. The contradiction that had been staring him in the face all night. How had he not seen it before?

"Why would… _you_ show me this?"

The angel breathed a sigh of exasperation.

"To show you the consequences of your –"

"You're a damn liar, Gabriel," Diego interrupted. A savage smirk spread across his face. "And I finally have proof."

The angel folded his arms, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. "Really."

Diego rested his chin on the back of his hand, still smirking.

"If all this was pre-ordained, set in stone…" He threw out his hand with a flourish, pointing accusingly at the angel. "…then Mia would be here, trying to convince me to stay alive. Not you. They're her _family_. Who are they to you?"

The angel looked like he'd just been slapped. "W-well – I…" He gestured uselessly for a few seconds, then slumped slightly, squeezing his arm with his hand.

"Ha…! That's what I thought." Diego let his arm fall back to his side, his smirk fading. "We're done here, Gabriel. Take me home."

The angel swallowed, then folded his arms. "N-no."

"No?" Diego walked forward, closing the space between them. He glowered at the angel. "Gabriel, you can drag me all the way to the end of time, but you won't change my mind. This case is over. You've lost."

He made to walk past the angel.

"No!"

The angel grabbed him by the arms.

"You can't–"

They shuffled back and forth on the pavement, struggling with each other. Diego grabbed the angel's arm and put his other hand on the angel's face, pushing it back and away from him. The angel let go of one of Diego's arms, raking his bare skin with his fingernails in the process, and pulled Diego's hand away from his face.

"Not till you understand–"

Diego ripped his hand out of the angel's grasp and cocked his fist back. The angel held up his free hand, glancing nervously from Diego's fist to his face.

"Punch me all you want," the angel said. He regained some composure, schooling his features into a stern expression. "But we aren't going back until you understand how one decision can ripple out over time."

Diego glared at the angel. As satisfying as it would be to haul off and slug him, he doubted it would make him go away. But he wasn't ready to drop his fists just yet.

"All right, Gabriel," he said. "Let's review the evidence. You drag me away from a peaceful suicide and take me time-travelling in my underwear. You show me all these people who are going to die or lead miserable lives because I'm dead instead of rotting in jail. But nothing adds up. Especially you." He lowered his fist slightly, but kept a tight hold on the angel's arm. "If someone up there wanted me to live, why send a total stranger? Why not Mia? Why not my father?"

He stepped closer, hoping to use his extra height to make the angel nervous. The angel swallowed, but stubbornly held his ground.

"You're the key to all this, Gabriel," Diego continued. "So why don't you tell me what's really going on?"

The angel took a deep breath and let it out slow. "You want the truth?"

"Never ask a question unless you want to hear the answer," Diego replied. "That's one of my rules."

The angel relaxed his hold on him, his features sagging into glum misery.

"Many years ago I told a little white lie," he explained. "I witnessed a crime, but I never saw the culprit. Still, there were only two possibilities, and I knew – _I knew_ – which of them had done it. So I gave the police the man's name. What did it matter if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes?" The angel's face took on a haunted expression, gaze sliding past Diego, staring into the distance. "But then other people started crossing over because of my little white lie. It had consequences I could never have imagined, affected people I didn't know. Even you."

Diego stared at him, frowning. The angel nodded sadly.

"If it wasn't for me, you would never have met Mia Fey. You wouldn't have been driven to do what you did out of loyalty to her sister. And I can't take it anymore. I can't take one more person dying because of that one little white lie." The angel moved away and sat on the curb. He took off his glasses and pressed his knuckles to his eyes.

Diego regarded the hunched figure for a few moments. He shook his head slowly, a smirk creeping onto his face.

_Well, well._

"Ha…! And here I thought I was an arrogant son of a bitch." On a hunch, he held out his hand, cupping his fingers. A mug of Blend #102 materialised out of thin air, and he took a long swig. "But you, amigo… you got me beat."

The angel looked up at him slowly, sliding his glasses back on. "_Excuse me?"_

Diego chuckled at the angel's snotty, offended expression. "_There_ we go. Drown it in cream, smother it in caramel, but the bitter taste of coffee always surfaces in the end." He took another swallow of scalding hot darkness to underscore his point. "You look just like your pompous ass of a son."


	5. Act Four

**Act Four**

The angel stared at Diego in shock. Then he leaped to his feet, his face a mask of rage. "Don't you talk about Miles–"

Diego calmly stepped back, out of punching range. "_Now_ look who's ready to throw hands." He had another sip of coffee. "Is punching _me_ going to solve anything, Mr. Attorney?"

Gregory Edgeworth huffed, but then relaxed, letting his fists uncurl and his arms hang limply by his sides.

"You don't want me to talk about your son," Diego remarked. "But you talk about Mia as if she had no free will of her own. What should I do about that, amigo?"

Gregory looked up at him.

"You don't _understand_," he said, an edge creeping into his voice. "I _lied_. I never saw who killed me. If I'd told the truth, Misty Fey wouldn't have been disgraced. She wouldn't have had to leave her village. Mia Fey would never have become a lawyer–"

Diego regarded his half-full coffee mug for a moment, then threw it at him.

"Objection!"

Gregory ducked just in time, the mug sailing within inches of his head to shatter on the pavement behind him.

"What – are you _insane?_" Gregory spluttered.

"Are you God?" Diego countered. "You're so sure everything would be sunshine and rainbows if you'd fessed up and admitted you were unconscious when you died. Well, Mr. Attorney, where's your evidence?"

"If I'd told the truth, Yogi wouldn't have been charged with murder," Gregory replied simply.

Diego snorted. "Who else were they going to indict? Your nine-year-old son?"

Gregory paled visibly, but quickly recovered.

"The truth would have helped his attorney craft a better defence than a plea of insanity," he answered. "If I didn't know who killed me, there's no proof that Yogi was guilty."

Diego shook his head.

"Objection!" He lifted his hand and smirked to find another mug of coffee had materialised while they were talking. Diego took a swig before continuing.

"You're forgetting, amigo. I may have been in high school when you were murdered, but I did work with Robert Hammond for five years. Old Bob plea-bargained pretty much all of his cases when I knew him."

Gregory looked at him sharply, but said nothing.

"I knew Marvin Grossberg for five years, too." Diego gestured to Gregory with his mug. "Are you responsible for fat drunks who can't keep their mouths shut?"

"Objection!" Gregory countered. "If I'd told the truth, Misty Fey wouldn't have named Yogi as the killer. There wouldn't have been a discrepancy with this supposedly crucial testimony and the outcome of the trial for the press to exploit. She wouldn't have had to leave her village."

"Ha…!" Diego had another mouthful of coffee. "You really think the tabloids wouldn't have had a field day with 'Cops Consult a Medium' regardless of the outcome? Turn it around and look at it from the public's point of view. How credible is a spirit medium who says, 'Oh, I totally channelled the dead guy, but he doesn't know what happened'?"

"I…" Gregory broke off and thought better of it. "…You have a point."

Diego's smirk faded, replaced by a grim frown.

"Speaking of Misty Fey," he murmured, "I always did wonder what kind of mother abandons two little children to the tender mercies of her jealous older sister."

Gregory swallowed.

"Do you understand, Gabriel?" Diego asked. "You threw a pebble, so you blame yourself for the boats that capsized. What about all the people who were throwing rocks?"

Gregory wet his lips. "My actions still had consequences." He looked at Diego. "Just like yours."

Diego smirked wryly and gazed into his coffee mug.

"Sure," he admitted. "But they're not as wide-ranging as you think. People aren't dominoes, Gabriel. They don't fall in a straight line."

Gregory folded his arms and tapped a finger on his bicep.

"You're mixing your metaphors, Mr. Prosecutor."

"Attack the style when you can't attack the substance," Diego countered smoothly. He punctuated the observation with another sip of coffee. "That's one of my rules."

Gregory blew out an exasperated breath and began to polish his glasses with a handkerchief, the colour rising in his cheeks. Diego's satisfaction at rattling him began to fade.

"Look, Gabriel," he said, softening a little. "I know what's it's like to have the past eating at you. But what's done is done, and you have to let it go." He had another mouthful of coffee. "Hell, if I'd done that four years ago, we wouldn't be here."

Gregory slid his glasses back on, and looked up. Diego cursed silently at the triumphant look on his face.

"So," Gregory declared, pointing his finger at Diego, "you admit that if you'd known then what you know now, you'd have done things differently!"

Diego snorted. "Even a blind man has twenty-twenty hindsight."

"Then how do you know your death _won't_ have any negative effects?" Gregory shot back.

_Well_. Gregory did have a point there. Diego sipped his coffee while he considered his answer.

"It's true, I don't know that for sure," he conceded. "But you do, right? I mean, why drag me all the way out here if you didn't?"

Gregory looked at him warily, and Diego smirked. _Trying to figure out where I'm going with this, amigo?_

"That's right."

"So help me out here, Gabriel," Diego continued. "I need a little more proof that all this is on the level."

Gregory frowned. "What sort of proof?"

Diego gazed into his coffee mug and idly swished the liquid around.

"Well, preventing Blackquill's death I can see," he replied. "And maybe I could help that kid, Tobaye. But Pearl…" He looked up at Gregory. "She runs away because she's afraid of turning into her mother. Now I didn't make the kid's life any easier, but I'm not the one who tried to use her as a murder weapon."

Gregory shifted his weight nervously.

"Connect the dots for me, Gabriel," Diego pressed. "How do I stop Pearl making that choice? How can I help find her from a prison cell?"

He sipped his coffee and watched Gregory squirm.

"I… well…"

Diego waited while Gregory continued to struggle for an answer. As he swallowed his last mouthful of coffee, he decided that Gregory had had long enough.

"Ha…! That's what I thought. This was never about me, was it?" A note of bitterness crept into his voice. "It was always all about _you_."

Gregory glared at him, his face going red.

"Fine," he snapped, his voice cracking. "Go ahead. Kill yourself." He turned away from Diego, scrubbing at his glasses again. "But don't come crying to me when the people you could have helped start crossing over."

Diego stared at Gregory's back. He felt sorry for Gregory, suddenly. Twenty-odd years later and he was still haunted by his own murder, even in paradise. Diego set his coffee mug down and approached him.

"Gabriel."

Gregory half-turned to look at him, sliding his glasses back onto his face. Diego stepped a little closer.

"Just because you and I can play Six Degrees of Separation from each other doesn't make you responsible for me," he said gently. "I _chose_ to be on that mountain. Nobody put me there. Not Hawthorne, not Morgan Fey, and especially not some lie you told a hundred years ago."

Gregory heaved a sigh and looked away.

"That's… that's very kind of you to say. But it's not that simple."

Diego felt a flash of irritation. He strode in front of Gregory and turned to look him in the face.

"Don't you get it, Gabriel?" he snapped. "You came here tonight looking for absolution. _I'm giving it to you._ You aren't responsible for my choices – any of them. Misty Fey's blood is on _my_ hands, and so is my own."

Gregory stared back at him. For a few seconds, Diego thought he was going to say something. Instead, he sank down onto the curb, crossing his arms on his knees.

"I always thought…" Gregory paused and took a deep breath. He let it out and shot Diego a wan smile. "Maybe you're right about me. Arrogant. God complex." He shrugged and stared at the asphalt in front of him. "If, if my lie had an impact on all these people – even a negative one – then maybe my death had…_meaning_, instead of..."

"Instead of some psychopath killing you for no reason," Diego murmured.

Gregory took his glasses off and rubbed a hand over his face. Diego gazed at him for a few moments, then sat next to him. He picked up his coffee mug and was mildly amused to find it full again. He took a scalding sip, gazing at the darkened buildings across the street from them.

"You want to know the worst thing about my crime?" he asked. Gregory looked at him, and Diego looked away. "I had to admit that… I have no character." He stared down into the coffee mug and its endless black depths. "See, a man with character would've taken that damn letter straight to Trite and Maya. A man with character would've made sure they understood that Morgan Fey was still manipulating Pearl." He leaned back on his elbows, trying to mask his discomfort with a more relaxed posture. "Not me, though. I had to play the _big hero. _Ruined my life and three other people's lives in the process."

"You…" Gregory laid a hand on his shoulder. "You weren't thinking straight. You'd been through so much…"

Diego snorted and jerked away. "You sound just like Trite." He shook his head and had a sip of coffee. "Yeah, it'd be real easy to blame the grief, the poison…" He barked out a bitter laugh. "…The brain damage. But I knew what I was doing. I didn't want to just quietly destroy a letter. I wanted to swoop in and save someone."

He heard Gregory shifting his weight.

"I… I see."

Diego looked at him. Gregory was frowning intently at the asphalt between his shoes. Diego smirked.

"Spit it out, Gabriel."

Gregory looked at him with a slightly guilty expression. "I beg your pardon?"

Diego had a mouthful of coffee. "I know that look," he explained. "You've got one last argument, haven't you? So spit it out, amigo. It's getting chilly out here."

Gregory looked away and pushed his glasses up his nose, a faint smile on his face.

"Not an argument, exactly," he admitted. "I simply can't believe that you don't care about the future."

"Ha." Diego gazed into the coffee mug. "I just told you, I killed a woman, put two girls in danger, and hung a third out to dry just to make myself feel better. Are you really surprised that I'm selfish?"

Gregory shot him a wry smile. "Surely you remember what it's like to believe in someone to the very end."

Diego closed his eyes briefly, then smiled back ruefully. "Sorry to disappoint you."

Gregory leaned forward slightly to look at Diego. "But… what if there's even the slightest chance that you can still do some good? Isn't that worth living for?"

Diego took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"The 'slightest chance.'" He gazed into his coffee mug for a few moments. "It's not enough, Gabriel. You see, a man in a long coat already told me my future. It's a long, rough road in a worn-out piece of junk that's shaking itself apart. And the journey ends in a hospital bed, with…" He paused, struggling to keep his composure. "…with no-one to hold my hand." He had a mouthful of coffee to steady himself, then shot Gregory a bitter smirk. "And since I don't trust the spirit world, I'm inclined to believe a flesh-and-blood fortune-teller over a supernatural one."

Gregory blew out a breath and looked away.

"There's really nothing I can say to change your mind?" he asked.

Diego heaved a weary sigh, suddenly too exhausted to continue the conversation. He drained his coffee and stood up.

"End this, Gabriel," he pleaded quietly. "I don't want to spend my last days tied to machines, pissing in a bag. I spent five years that way, and I won't do it again. I want to die with some dignity."

Gregory rose, stretching as he did so. He gazed at Diego for a few seconds, then sighed.

"All right."

Diego eyed him warily. "Really? The defense rests?"

Gregory shrugged, the corner of his mouth briefly twitching into a smile. "No further questions."

The dark streets around them began to shimmer and fade, blurring and then sharpening into the brick walls and bars of Diego's cell.

Diego looked around. The big summer moon was still streaming through the window. Blackquill and his feathered companion were both sleeping peacefully. Diego's pants were still tied to the bunk frame, and the scent of burning paper still lingered in the air.

Cautiously, Diego approached the bunks and reached out for the frame. The metal was cool and solid under his fingertips. He swung himself into the top bunk and slipped the noose around his neck, then paused.

"You, uh…" He glanced at Gregory. "You might wanna fly home before I do this, Gabriel."

Gregory nodded. He looked up at Diego with a sad smile. "Sorry for dragging you all over."

Diego flashed a brief smile in return. "I guess it was nice to have…_someone_ care about me," he admitted.

Gregory heaved a sigh, and began to turn around.

"Oh…" He stopped, and turned back, scratching his forehead. "…There's just… one more thing." He looked up at Diego. "Why did you burn Pearl's letter?"

Diego shrugged. "I didn't want anyone to find it," he explained. "Last thing the kid needs is to feel like I killed myself because of her."

Gregory shrugged in return. "Who would tell her?" he asked. "She and Maya don't have any contact with you. I doubt they'd be informed of your death, let alone any details. There's only the _slightest chance_ that anyone would tell her that you killed yourself because she wrote you a nasty letter."

"Well maybe I didn't want to take that chance," Diego shot back impatiently.

Gregory slipped his hands into his pockets and gazed at him with a smug, serene expression. Diego frowned at him. Then his own words sank in, and he closed his eyes in defeat.

"God damn you, Gabriel," he murmured.

Gregory adjusted his glasses, a faint smile on his face. "Well, I _was_ the best."

Diego sighed and sagged back against the wall.

"Tell me something," he murmured. "I know why_ you_ came here tonight. But why not Mia?"

Gregory was silent for a few moments. Diego got the sinking feeling that he wouldn't like Gregory's answer.

"Mia…" Gregory looked up at him. "…Mia didn't come because she knows that you're suffering." He grimaced, as if it physically pained him to say the words. "And she doesn't want you to suffer any more. She wants you with her."

Diego swallowed, his eyes stinging. Even after every stupid, selfish, criminal thing he'd done, Mia was still waiting for him. He could shed this mortal skin and spend eternity in her arms.

Blackquill stirred in the bunk below him, the movement jolting Diego out of his thoughts. He leaned over and gazed at the younger man's face, perpetually streaked with tears. Diego straightened back up and sighed. He didn't believe a lot of what Gregory had shown him that night, but Blackquill's death at the hands of other prisoners was more probable than Diego was comfortable with. And maybe it didn't matter whether Blackquill died tomorrow or four years from now. But anything could happen in four years, and an innocent man deserved that chance.

He knew what Mia would do, if she were in his place.

"All right, Gabriel," Diego murmured. "I'll see Blackquill keeps his date with the hangman, for all the good it'll do." He looked away, annoyed by the victorious expression on Gregory's face. "After that, I can't make any promises."

"Thank you," Gregory said quietly. Diego looked back at him, shielding his face as bright light began to stream from behind Gregory, enveloping him. Diego closed his eyes against the blinding view, and suddenly the world fell away beneath him.


	6. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Diego clawed desperately at the fabric around his neck, gargling and choking as the cloth squeezed his windpipe. His bare heels banged against the cold metal frame of the bed as he struggled. Where the hell was the knot?! His fingernails were too short and the noose was too tight. His lungs burned as he gasped in vain for oxygen. He was dying and couldn't stop it. Oh, God, he couldn't stop it. Black dots swarmed his vision.

He felt the flutter of angel's wings.

There was a tearing sound above him, and suddenly he was falling, landing hard on his ass on the concrete floor. Diego wrestled the remains of his pants from around his neck and rolled onto his knees, coughing for air.

At last his vision cleared, and his breathing returned to normal. Diego looked up and saw Blackquill half-sitting up in bed. The younger man was gazing at him with an amused grin on his face. Diego got to his feet, steadying himself on the bunks. Blackquill's pet hawk was perched on the bedframe, its talons curled in the other half of Diego's pants.

"Armando-dono." Blackquill's grin broadened, and he nodded at Diego's crotch. "Bored of life, or just bored?"

Diego smirked back, cupping his semi-erection. "Maybe give a man a little privacy next time, Highlander."

"Hmph." Blackquill slid out of bed and swung himself into the top bunk. Diego gazed at him, tilting his head to the side slightly. Blackquill looked away, scratching his pet lovingly on the head.

"I'd rather not be woken up by your depraved shenanigans again tonight," he explained.

Diego's smirk faded, the image of Blackquill bleeding out in the showers surfacing in his mind. He approached the bed and rested a hand on the top bunk.

"You shouldn't care about me, Highlander," he murmured seriously. Blackquill glanced at him briefly, still caressing his bird. "It'll get you killed."

"Hmph." Blackquill shot him a crooked smile. "Let me worry about that, Armando-dono."

Diego turned away, shaking his head, and rolled into the bottom bunk. The mattress and blankets were still warm from Blackquill's body heat. He tucked one arm under the pillow and gazed at the underside of the bottom bunk, trying to make sense of the night's events.

Had he really been visited by the ghost of Gregory Edgeworth, seeking absolution for not telling the truth about his murder? Or was it was all just a dying hallucination – his brain's last ditch attempt to save him from himself?

Maybe it didn't matter.

He'd agreed to keep Blackquill alive, and a man never went back on his word. That was one of his rules.

Diego took off his visor and closed his eyes.

_Wait for me just a little longer, kitten. I've got one more cup to drink before I can come home._

Somewhere in the distance, he heard a bell ring.


End file.
